


I Saw You Smiling At Me

by ChibiSquirt



Series: STH verse [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Bottom Tony Stark, Come Marking, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Top Steve Rogers, Urethral Play, Voyeurism, and yet oddly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 05:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiSquirt/pseuds/ChibiSquirt
Summary: Steve and Tony have (finally) gotten together!  Now it's time to explore some of their kinks...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juanitatequila](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juanitatequila/gifts).



> This is the sequel to He Knows More Than You Do, but I don't think you need to read that one to understand this one. And if you do want a brief plot summary of it, here: _Tony and Steve have sex for Science. Then they have sex because they really like sex._ Then _they have sex because they're madly in love with each other. Funny how that works!_
> 
> (It wasn't exactly the most complicated plot ever.)
> 
> (This one's even simpler, though.)
> 
> Written for JuanitaTequila for my second and last Stony Trumps Hate fic. Hopefully it was worth the wait! Thanks to Buhfly for beta-ing and to the SBBSurvivors slack for cheering-on.

Steve crossed his arms, leaning against the wall just outside the doorway of the bedroom— _their_ bedroom, now—and watched his lover.  

It shouldn’t have been erotic, really.  Tony wasn’t exactly wearing lingerie.  His legs were bare from thighs to ankles, but it wasn’t anything sexy, he was just lounging around in boxer shorts and socks.  He was wearing a t-shirt and hoodie, too... an MIT hoodie, and—Steve squinted, then grinned to himself—fuzzy _Transformers_ socks.  

It shouldn’t have made Steve’s heart turn over like a cold engine—it _shouldn’t—_ and yet...

Tony sat like a cat, exactly in the center of their enormously plush bed, his legs tucked around him in a half-circle.  His back wasn’t exactly turned to Steve, but he was at an angle, a bit less than half his face showing towards Steve; there was little chance that he had seen Steve lurking in the shadows.  

He was focused, Tony was, his gaze fixed on something Steve couldn’t quite see.  Steve would have been able to catch a glimpse of it if he were to move forward just two feet, but he chose not to.  It was worth it for the opportunity to watch Tony in peace for a while.

Steve liked watching Tony; liked observing the world, in general.  Something about taking note of the tiny details was satisfying to him, was one of his strengths as an artist.  In architectural studies, he was able to note down the imperfections in form which brought realism: the broken downspout on the far corner, the uneven cornices, the cracked sidewalk...  

But when it came to drawing Tony, Steve always felt like he couldn’t quite get it right.  Tony’s face, he knew, _had_ to have equivalent imperfections, the human equivalent of a pigeon’s nest on the roof, but whenever Steve went looking for them, he missed the flaws in his entrancement over the movement.

Tony was a body in motion, always.  Even now, expressions danced across his face, and one of Tony’s hands was tap, tap, tapping against his knee.  

As Steve watched, Tony stiffened slightly, having come to the part of the whatever-he-was-watching that he was really paying attention to.  His gaze sharpened like a wild thing’s, his head tipping forward by inches.  The hand at his knee stilled, then began rubbing and flattening over the kneecap, instead.  

A few seconds later, Tony gave a little jump.  It was a comic sort of movement, not a scared one; it reminded Steve of the sorts of motions cartoons used to make.  Tony sat up, his hand moving from kneecap to thigh, rubbing down the length of it and back up, rucking up the dark, widely-spaced hairs there.  

Once, twice, three times... and then Tony was reaching up, opening the slit in the front of them and pulling his hardening cock through.

 _Woah, okay!_ Steve blinked and jolted forward automatically, although he hadn’t made it any further than shifting his weight forward before he was pulling back again, lingering in the shadows.  

This wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting to come home to...  

Steve had been out of town for three days, two of them dealing with a situation in Argentina involving somebody improbably known as “Paste-Pot Pete,” and then one day debriefing about the glue-related mishap to the CIA.  Steve did that a lot, the debriefing with extant national agencies, so he still had his apartment in DC and could have spent the night there.  But he had _wanted_ to come home, had _wanted_ to sleep in the bed which would hopefully be warm and full of snuggly Tony by that point, so he had talked Clint into flying the back even though they were all exhausted.

He had _expected_ to find Tony either already asleep—it was quite late—or not in bed at all, if he were still in the lab.  He had maybe, at the outside, expected Tony to wake up when Steve got into bed.  

Finding a Tony who was awake and, apparently, masturbating?  That was a surprise.  A very pleasant surprise, though...

Steve stiffened, trying to control his breathing which hastened at the sight of Tony’s long, clever fingers wrapping around himself.  

_What is he watching, anyway?_

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he was leaning forward, trying to see what Tony was looking at while still keeping his weight pressed back on his heels, at the edge of the hallway so the floor didn’t squeak.  (It was Stark Tower and the floors probably didn’t squeak anyway, but Steve had learned his sneaking skills a long time ago and wasn’t planning on changing them now.)

He was expecting porn, to be honest; the jerking off was kind of a giveaway on that one.  He wasn’t expecting precisely _this_ porn, though.

The screen was large—of course it was—and even craning his neck, Steve couldn’t see all of it.  He saw enough to recognize his own _face,_ though.  And... other portions of his anatomy.

His pulse raced ahead, outrunning even his rasping breathing, and he jerked back against the wall again.  Tony was watching _him?!_ Or, well, video of him.  Steve recognized it, even; that was the video from their first time, that time in the lab, with the—and all the—

Steve bit his lip savagely, tapping his toes inside his shoes, before peering out, cautiously, once more.  

On the giant screen, his abs were glistening in fluorescent lights, gleaming with sweat and bearing a series of filthy sharpie marks, outlining the places where his own jizz had fallen.  He was gasping—on the screen—and twitching, obviously _so_ close to coming, and Tony’s mouth was moving, which meant he was talking Steve through it—on the screen, again, but also in Steve’s memory, because Tony talking him through to orgasm that first time was something he was _never going to forget_ —

Steve suppressed a shudder as all of the blood in his body abruptly changed direction, his hands curling into fists just to feel the pressure against his skin.  He cut his gaze to the real Tony, live in front of him, watching as—as _Tony_ watched _him,_ watched _them,_ and the circularity of it was just—

Tony was taking his time, stroking himself slowly.  Playing with it, almost.  He had the lube nearby, Steve could see it, but he wasn’t going for it yet, maybe because he had something planned that needed clean fingers or maybe just because he liked it dry.  The two of them hadn’t been together long enough for Steve to know for sure, yet.  They hadn’t even been together long enough for Steve to know about _this._

He shoved the thought away and got his breathing under control, not wanting to interrupt Tony, not wanting to barge in now that things had gotten going.  But it was quickly becoming obvious, as the Steve on the screen groaned and the Tony in the room echoed the noise, that Tony was enjoying the watching, enjoying the show past-Steve had put on.  It wasn’t just that the Steve on the screen was orgasming—orgasming a lot, _Jesus, how did we ever find enough of those wipes?!—_ but that Tony was able to—

“Stop.”  

Steve froze, but the order hadn’t been addressed to him.  Tony leaned over for the lube, slicking his hand and then returning to his previous position.  His eyes closed in bliss as he gave himself a slow, firm pump, and when he opened them again, they gleamed.  “Rewind.  ...Now play, at... thirty percent speed.”  

Slowly, the Steve on the screen clenched his jaw.  His neck arched, and his back, and then his hips thrust slowly through the air above the chair and jizz was flying artistically, twisting acrobatically to splatter across the recorded Steve’s abs, and it was—beautiful, actually.   

“Shit,” Tony said, finally leaning across the bed for a pump of the lube.  His shoulders were loose, his head dragging to the side in relaxation.  “Yes, God.  Change video—”

That was a shame; Steve knew what was on the rest of the first video, and it was one of his personal favorite recordings in the world.  But it made sense, in a way, that Tony would prefer not to watch his own solo acts.  

Tony ordered FRIDAY to switch to their last “session” in the lab, the one Steve had been restrained for.  In the hallway, Steve shuddered, a wave of heat crashing over him.  He could still remember clearly the length of red elasticized cable wrapping around his wrists.

Apparently, Tony remembered that moment, too:  he instructed FRIDAY to play the video from the beginning, listening in on their conversation about the “experiment,” lazily jacking himself as Steve-on-screen began to fidget.  It was, Steve knew, a moment before Steve-on-screen was going to look around and see the restraints now attached to the chair...

And then it happened, and Tony gave himself an extra long pull, stroking faster.  “God, Steve, your _face!_ Fuck.  Replay the last fifteen seconds, three times in a row, fifty percent speed each time.   _Fuck!”_

Tony reached out and took another pump of lube and switched hands, stroking his cock with his left while dipping his right hand behind himself.  Steve had a perfect angle to watch as Tony leaned forward, fingers sliding beneath the loose boxers.  It was easy to see the fabric distorting, marking the progress as Tony reached for his own hole.

Steve was abruptly, inevitably conscious of his own hardness, the aching throb of his cock in his pants.  He watched as Tony’s head tilted back on his neck, the angle of his arm changing as he found his own hole and sunk in.  Probably two fingers; Tony had a lot of lube on his hands already, and he did like to go fast...

“Fast forward,” Tony said when the three replays were done.  “Annnd... stop.  God, I will never get tired of this moment...”  

On screen, Steve’s head pressed deeply into the chair back as Tony slowly eased the sound into his urethra.  Steve pressed himself back further into the wall and bit back a groan, watching Tony through eyes that wanted to fall shut.  Tony was jerking himself, working his left hand smooth as a train piston in a way that Steve now knew was building towards a climax.  He pulled his boxers down enough that they cupped the curves of his ass before sinking the first two fingers of his right hand in again, deep, twisting at the wrist to get the best angle.

That did it.  Steve couldn’t take it anymore, and dropped a hand to the catches of his uniform pants.  It took three tries, but he managed to open the front of it, sliding his hand inside and pressing firmly against the throbbing of his erection, willing it to stay still and quiet with him as Tony finished.  It wouldn’t be long, now.

Tony toppled slowly over on the bed in front of him, tipping to the side so that both of his hands could work.  His left hand sped, the length of the strokes shortening until he was barely nudging the head of his cock, thumb circling directly over the frenulum as he beat like a hummingbird’s wings.  He gasped Steve’s name—Steve barely managed not to reply—and on the screen, out of Steve’s line of sight once more, Steve’s own voice said, _“You could fuck me with it.”_

Steve shuddered, pressing sharply against his throbbing penis, and Tony, before him, squeezed his eyes closed and came, spilling in three sharp splurts onto the coverlet.  

Tony panted, lying still where he was, eyes shut.  Small shivers occasionally wracked him, and after a second, he pulled his right hand free, drawing it up to brace him against the bed.  

Silently, Steve stepped forward, crossing the distance to kneel beside Tony, trying not to look at his own passionate face, frozen on the paused video in an expression of horrible vulnerability.  He circled the end of the bed and came up beside Tony before sitting.  The bed dipped under his weight and Tony shot upright.  

“What—?!  ...Ew.”  

Tony had moved without looking, and put his hand down smack in the center of the wet spot.

Steve laughed, ducking his head, then looked up at Tony with a smile.  “Welcome home to me,” he said, raising his eyebrows.  

Tony groaned, holding his come-smeared hand in the air between them.  “You couldn’t have gotten here two minutes earlier?”

“I did get here two minutes earlier,” Steve said easily.  “I wanted to watch.”

Tony froze, looking up at him with a betrayed expression.  Steve just rolled his eyes and took Tony’s arm, steering it across Tony’s body.  “Looks like that’s something we both have in common,” he pointed out before dipping his head to kiss Tony’s palm.

“Oh, tell me you’re not going to—Jesus, Steve!”  

Steve sucked gently and swirled his tongue around Tony’s index finger twice, cleaning the last of Tony’s juices from it with his tongue, then let it pop from his mouth.  “You really object?” he asked lazily.  

He knew Tony wouldn’t.

“Of course I don’t, but—urrrrgh!”  Tony’s voice went low and breathy on the last word—well, last noise, anyway—as Steve sucked the next finger into his mouth.  “Do—shit.   _God,_ Steve.  Do you know where that’s been?”

Steve sucked on the third finger once more and let it go again.  “Exactly the same place I plan to put my mouth, in a minute.  You like to watch, huh?”

“I, uh... Uh-huh... I do, yeah.  Mmm...  Kiss me?”

They met in the middle, unhesitating and sweet.  It never failed to surprise Steve the way his toes would still curl when Tony kissed him, the way his stomach clenched excitedly every time, no matter how hot the minutes that came before the kiss had been.  This kiss was warm and inviting, a question and an answer, all at once.  Tony’s free hand smoothed down Steve’s back, pressing them closer, and Steve hummed happily into the kiss, sucking on Tony’s exploring tongue, edging just that little more into him and pressing their bodies together.

Steve gasped as Tony's roving hand dropped even lower, cupping the lower curve of his rear and squeezing.  Tony's right hand was moving too, now, dropping from where it had cradled his cheek down to his neck, squeezing lightly before continuing downward.  

"You should take this off."  Tony's voice was low, husky with want, and Steve shuddered at the sound of it.  Obediently, he started pulling at the tabs of his jacket, stripping off the blue kevlar to reveal the plain white t-shirt he wore beneath.  Tony trailed his lips over Steve's cheek, oh-so-gently brushing over the cheekbone and dotting small kisses as he moved towards the jaw, then towards the ear—

"Oh god," Steve said, hastily propping one arm against the bed as he buckled.  Tony laughed, low and intoxicated, in response.  "Tony, c'mon—"

"Yeah," Tony agreed.  He slipped off the bed and started pushing.  Steve turned where Tony steered him, so that Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed with both feet flat on the floor, knees spread.  Steve pulled his jacket off entirely, sending it sailing across the room, but when he went to do the same with his t-shirt Tony stopped him.  "Leave it on," he smirked.  "You'll like the textures."

"I—"

But Tony's mouth was already closing over one of Steve's nipples, and Tony was right, of course he was right, and Steve did like this—maybe a little too much, truth be told, because Steve immediately started arching and pushing into the warmth and wetness of it.  It was only when Tony put a hand on each of Steve's shoulders and threw his weight behind them that Steve was able to settle down, letting Tony have his way with him.

But _god,_ it felt amazing!  Tony's mouth was so hot, and the thin cotton of Steve's shirt made the caress rough and scraping rather than slick, without being painful.  Tony scraped his teeth over the nipple, holding it between them rather than fully biting but with the nipple surrounded by wet cotton Steve wasn't going anywhere, and Steve found himself pleading, begging Tony for more.  

Tony smiled and bit down.

Steve shouted loudly, far louder than he ever would've back in the day—too much risk that someone would've overheard, nowhere nearly so safe as it was here.  But Tony's mouth was a miracle, and maybe if he'd had that back in the day he _would've_ been just as loud...  It was like his nipple had lines tying it to his limbs, his stomach, his dick; puppet strings, and when Tony bit, they pulled.  

Suddenly, Steve was hard and leaking, a minute from going off, if that.  Tony knew it, too; his hands jerked open Steve's pants—Tony smirked when he found the fly already open—and then he was pulling back, dropping to his knees.  Steve moaned as Tony mouthed at Steve's briefs, pleading before Tony even got started.  "Please, Tony, your mouth, I need—”

Tony sucked the head into his mouth, wrapping his hand around the base, and that was all it took.  The world went white, and Steve came into Tony's mouth, come splashing out around the corners of his lips, dripping into the dark, close crop of his beard.  

Steve drifted for a minute after he came, panting on the bed and thinking of nothing as Tony rested his head against Steve's thighs..  The world was fuzzy and soft on the edges, and Tony's hair was just long enough to curl around Steve's fingers as Steve carded his hands through it, a rhythmic, soothing motion.  

"...I was gonna rim you," he said eventually.

Tony snorted without lifting his head, rubbing his forehead against Steve's legs before sighing happily and rising to his knees.  "You still can," he pointed out, flopping next to Steve on the bed.

"Mm," Steve disagreed.  "Too tired."

Tony rolled over him and kissed him, slow and deep.  "You're usually good for plenty..."

"Long day," he explained.  He shrugged and dotted a kiss onto the small patch of gray at Tony's temple, the tiny one that Tony refused to admit was there.  "Maybe tomorrow?"  

Tony snorted.  "The kind of dinner plans I can get behind."  

They both fell silent, enjoying the moment.  Steve even dropped into a doze.  The room was warm, and Tony was an awfully wonderful weight on top of him...  Nothing wrong with dropping off to sleep, just for a moment...

 

* * *

 

Steve woke up as far as a half-daze when Tony urged him to take off his boots and go to bed properly, but by the time Steve had stripped off his pants and crawled under the covers—uncomfortable; he usually wore pajama pants, and his bare legs felt odd against the sheets—he was already falling back asleep.  

He slept fitfully, though, waking twice more during the night.  The first time he merely rubbed the nightmare from his eyes and looked around, remembering where he was and how he had come to be there.  Tony was warm and soft beside him, so Steve gratefully put his arm around his lover and snuggled back down into the blankets.  

The second time, he actually woke up for real, sitting up in bed and glancing around the room for a clock.  There wasn't a display; Steve had never figured out why not, but he knew Tony had some reason for disliking digital clocks beyond their uni-purpose designs, some wreckage caused by the high emotional waters of Tony's past.  Steve had chosen not to push at it, instead asking FRIDAY to monitor for a series of taps he could make against the headboard.  Long, short short, long long, short, and FRIDAY would illuminate the display panel Tony had built into the wall.  It was an easy enough workaround.

It was quarter after five, which meant Steve would have been waking up in a few minutes, anyway.  He gave up on sleep for the night and sat up in bed, shifting his bare legs closer to Tony and watching the way the faint illumination from the windows played palely in Tony's dark hair.  

Tony had pulled up the video, Steve thought.  He wasn't really sure what that meant.  Had Tony just been frustrated by the day, looking to get off?  Was this Tony’s normal routine?  Steve had a flash of memory of the way his mother had always come home—in the early morning, since she had worked the night shift—and put the kettle on to boil before collapsing into a chair and dozing for the few minutes before the whistle.  The doze always helped her fall asleep, she said, and since their curtains were thinner than even their shirts, Steve had figured she would need all the help she could get once the sun was up.  Was this just Tony’s version of dozing while the kettle boiled?  

Or was this something else?  Steve pictured the scene again; the way Tony had set up all his accoutrements first, the way he had settled in wearing a somewhat unusual combination of clothes...

No, this had been a special occasion; Steve was sure of it.  And Tony hadn’t been expecting him back, so who _had_ it been for...?

Ah.  Tony _hadn’t expected him back,_ that was the key.  This was something Tony was _ashamed_ of, or else he would have been happy to show Steve...

Ah, again.  There we go.  Happy to show Steve—more like the reverse.  Exactly the reverse, in fact.  

Like a key in a lock, the thought turned over in Steve’s mind, and, mystery solved, Steve was happy to throw the covers back and stand out of the bed.

He had a lot to do that day, after all.  Might as well get an early start.

 

* * *

 

Steve beat Tony home that night—on purpose.  It wasn’t hard; Tony was contemplating buying a little tech startup out in Cleveland, and had planned to fly out and back in the armor, since that always added a nicely competitive edge to the negotiations.  “And because you like flying in the armor,” Steve had pointed out, amused.

“And that, too, yes—kiss goodbye?”  

Steve had kissed him goodbye for long, slow minutes, his hands curving around the mechanized rear and lifting.  He liked the feel of this, sometimes; the struggle to lift something as heavy as the suit.  Made him feel like he was a normal guy, again, just cuddling his sweetheart...

But once Tony was gone, Steve got moving.  The first order of the day was talking to FRIDAY, getting Tony's schedule for the day laid out and arranging that certain portions of that schedule would remain fixed in time, no matter what distractions and shenanigans Tony got up to in Cleveland.  

Much of the rest of the day was spent doing actual work:  finishing up the paperwork from "Paste-Pot Pete" took most of the morning, and drills with the Avengers were an afternoon well-spent.  Steve had taken a QuinJet from the Tower out to the compound at noon; by seven, he was back, and had to hustle to the shower.  Tony would be home soon.

 

* * *

 

Putting in the plug was the oddest part.  Steve hadn’t done much of that—not much anal play in general, really—but he knew Tony liked it, liked receiving specifically.  And he had a hunch Tony wouldn’t switch things around without Steve prompting him in some way.  So, _this._

Steve had watched Tony prep himself twice, now, so he had a general idea:  lots of lube, go slow, ease in, and if it’s too tense, massage a little and try again.  But the actual practice of putting the plug in...  Steve wasn’t expecting that.  

At first it didn’t feel like much of anything.  He wondered if that might be a can’t-tickle-yourself phenomenon, because Tony had obviously been sensitive as hell to the first brush of Steve’s fingers.  But slipping the tip his own index finger into his hole felt... unexceptional.  Not _normal,_ exactly, but _like_ normal.  Steve twisted it a little, pushing at the sides of his entrance, then withdrew for more slick.

It felt a little more exceptional when he got the whole finger in; it wasn’t quite a stretch, but it _was_ a distortion.  He could feel it, at least.  And when he twisted again, the torsion dragged at the sides of his hole, and that _did_ feel good.  Past the tight clench of the muscle, his own channel was warm and close around him, and it felt hot at the same time it felt viscerally wrong.  Maybe _because_ it felt wrong.

It still wasn’t enough, though.  He switched to his middle finger—longer than his index, and a slightly better angle; he was able to bend it inside of himself—and then, relubing once again, up to two.  

And _there_ it was.  His mouth dropped open, slack, as he twisted his fingers together.  The stretch was...  It was satisfying.  It didn’t hurt, but it reminded him of the soreness he used to feel after boxing practice, anyway:  like his body was happy to be doing something it shouldn’t.  He pulled out and then shoved back in again, and again, and then scissored his fingers and thrust once again at a different angle.  He could feel his body adjusting to the stretch, enjoying being held open in a way it had never been held before.

He reached for the plug.  

The end of the plug was narrow, barely larger than the tip of his little finger.  He had expected to get something shaped vaguely like a small, personal spade, but in fact the highest reviews he had seen were for an irregular shape, a collection of bulges.  It was pretty obviously designed to mimic the usual functions of a guy’s sphincter, and Steve had deliberately gotten it in blue to reduce the resemblance.  

The first bulge slid into him with no more sensation than he had felt at first in this process, so Steve pushed on immediately to the second.  That he felt, but again, it was like the single finger.  

The third and final bulge of the toy was a different story.  Surprisingly so, considering that it was actually narrower than the two fingers he had just been using—but then, it was round, so even as it was narrower, it was also wider in the other dimension.  There was a feeling of ease as he closed around the narrow column at the base of the toy.  The flat end of the plug was long and narrow, a teardrop-shaped footprint which settled easily between his cheeks.  He could still feel it, though, pushing gently at the sides of his crevice, holding him open as sweetly as you would hold a spun sugar candy.  

He shuddered all over, from his shoulders to his knees.  He clenched down around the plug, which of course didn’t yield, and the resultant faint ache made him shudder again.  He was hard, he realized.  He supposed it shouldn’t really be a surprise.   _How_ hard he had gotten, though, and without even noticing, that was interesting.  He closed his hand around himself brusquely.  It didn’t take much, only five short strokes before he was spattering the sides of the shower in white blots and ribbons.  

He turned the showerhead on the mess, then reached for the other device, a kind of plug unromantically called a sperm stopper, and the antiseptic lube.  He had ten minutes before Tony was scheduled to arrive; he was going to have to hurry if he wanted to be ready in time.

 

* * *

 

By the time Tony walked in, Steve was, just barely, all set up.  There was a chair sitting next to the doorway, and the screen Tony had been watching him on last night was lit, displaying a camera feed from the same room.  The camera feed came from the wall opposing the bed, on the opposite side from the door, and the camera picked up colors well enough to perfectly highlight the royal blue lace Steve was wearing.  

The negligee was soft and light, barely weighing anything.  It hung from straps that were essentially just ribbons, and the neckline was almost straight—there was a mere hint of curve—before falling off diagonally to pass under his arms.  It would almost have been demure if it weren't transparent from the lace.

Steve had thought about, and then decided against, the matching panties.

FRIDAY warned him when Tony approached for landing.  Steve thought for one second about cancelling—he still had time; FRIDAY would absolutely be willing to stall Tony for his sake, and he could be out of the nightie and all unplugged in under a minute.  Tony would notice him being all slicked, but Steve didn't think it would elicit too much comment.  Maybe even some good things.  

But Steve had a theory about this whole _event_ he had planned, and going forward was really the only way to test it.  So he just said, "Thanks, FRIDAY," and attempted to lounge sexily.  (Being able to adjust his pose using the camera and video screen helped.  He had casually set out a mirror-sided tissue holder on the bedside table so that he could see exactly what the screen showed, even with his back turned.)

By the time Tony entered, Steve was lounging mostly on his right side, top knee drawn upwards and obscuring his groin, the other stretched out straight behind him.  The enhanced rear view on the oversized screen helpfully showed off the curve of his ass, but only faintly hinted at the dark solid curve of the plug.  His weight was largely on his right arm, like it would be for a side plank, while the left arm draped backwards over his hip.  The position required him to twist a little at the waist and felt a bit casual, but it certainly _looked_ good.  And that was sort of the point of all this...  

Tony, when he walked in, was absolutely, completely, totally speechless.  His mouth worked, gaping, for almost a full minute before he gave up and flapped his hands in Steve’s direction, instead.

"Hey," Steve greeted him, before wincing internally.  Hey?   _Hey?!_  Was that the best he could come up with?!  

He coughed and went on, "I thought we could try something."

Tony blinked at him, a lot.  "Uh-huh," he said faintly.

Steve smiled weakly.  "We don't have to, if you don't want," he temporized.  "I just thought, you know...  You might like it."

Tony swallowed.  "I'm gonna say anything we do while you're dressed like that, I'm gonna like."  His eyes roved over Steve's body, and he stepped forward.

_"Don't."_

Tony stopped moving.  "Okay..."  

"There's a chair by the door," Steve said.  He offered a warm smile, hoping it came out sultry but not really holding his breath for it.  Warm would have to do.  "I thought you might like...”

He hesitated, chickening out one more time.  Tony raised his eyebrows as he moved towards the seat, and that was what did it:  Tony was still here, Tony was not bothered—it seemed like maybe he was the opposite of bothered—and he was _still here,_ he was _invested,_ and that was all Steve needed to be a little bit brave.  "I thought you might like to watch, maybe."  Steve tilted his head at the screen.  "Either angle."

Tony's mouth dropped open half an inch, and his tongue snaked out to touch his bottom lip.  His eyes were on fire.  "Watch," he said.  The word came out of him like a snake's hiss.

Steve smiled again, more nervously this time.  "I thought you might like it.  You direct the show—I'll do whatever you want—and you just... watch."

Tony staggered into the chair like a dying man.  "Okay," he said, "okay.  That, that's—fine.  We can do that— _really,_ Steve?  Are you serious about this?"  

Steve grinned, relieved.  He knew that sound.  That sound was a man who wanted desperately to believe something was true but couldn't quite bring himself to buy in without reassurance.  It was a very good sound.  "Completely serious," Steve said, leaning into his pose a bit more.  "How do you want me?"

“Like that," Tony said, collapsing into a more comfortable position and opening his buckle immediately.  "Just—oh god, this is—yes—oh, hey, lube under the chair, nice—run your hand down your chest.  How does the lace feel?"

"Soft," Steve answered.  He felt like he was soaring, flying, as he watched Tony’s face go dark and intent.  "I was surprised—good surprised.  I thought it would scratch."  

"Yeah.  Can you move it to the side enough to get at your—?  Yeah, like that.  Flick 'em, get 'em nice and hard for me."

Steve rubbed his left thumb slowly over his nipple, which perked up immediately at the touch.  

"Yeah, good."  

Tony got himself out of his pants, not quite hard yet but thickening steadily.  He straightened his cock out enough so that it wouldn't catch on any of his clothes when it firmed the rest of the way and then rested his hands on his thighs.  His eyes were hot on Steve, and if felt odd—felt different, but good-different, to be watched in this way.  The back of Steve's neck prickled, and his breath came faster over his lips.  

"Run your hand up over your neck,” Tony ordered.  Steve’s breath hissed out as he did it, trying to move slowly to keep it as sexy as possible.  His cock was achingly hard, hidden by the negligee and his own posture, throbbing around the stopper in the tip.  “Scratch a bit, nice—and then into your hair.  Pull it gently."

It felt good, pulling his own hair, a counterpoint pain to the ache in his cock.  Steve let out a little moan, and Tony jerked in his seat.  

“Easy, Steve.  God, look at you...  I could watch this forever, you’re just so...”  Tony’s words trailed off as Steve brought his hand out of his hair again, sucking his thumb into his mouth.  A glance at the mirror showed his lips were red and glistening already where they wrapped around the digit.  

Tony’s hand shifted, and Steve saw him grip the base of his cock, low, squeezing hard.  

“Sit up,” Tony ordered.  “Edge of the bed.  I want to see your dick peeking out from under the end of that _fetching_ garment.  Great color on you, by the—”  His words cut off sharply.

Steve had sat up.  His hole ached as the change in position put pressure on the plug, and once again he clenched around it involuntarily as a low, wanton noise slipped out of him.  His cock, and the small, steel plug in the head of it, had slipped out from under the edge of the lace, just as Tony had asked for.

“Grab your hair again.”  Tony said it like it was a way to buy himself time, but Steve did it anyway, again with his left hand as his right scratched its way from his throat down to his nipple.  He rubbed at the nip through the lace—Tony had taught him that one—and pinched just enough that it hurt.  “Good god, you’re going to kill me.   _Steve._ Are you close?”

Tony’s voice was rough, and his hand was tight around his cock, his thumb the only part of it moving, just barely, over the frenulum.  

Steve thought about it through the haze of arousal.  It was hard to do; words weren’t forming normally, and every time he tried to think about coming, he felt another wave of intensity and had to rub his nipple or shift his weight around the plug again.  

Oh.  He shook his head.  “Not with the plug,” he managed.  “I did—earlier—before it was in.  Should be good for a while.”  He rubbed the lace over his nipple again and lost some time, remembering he had been saying something only when he was reminded by the sound of Tony’s harsh breathing.  “You can go more than once, right?”

“Oh—got it—and fuck, yes, I can.  Now touch yourself—your dick.  I want to see you tease yourself around that ring.”  The stopper was attached to a slim metal ring that fit right under the head of the glans.  

Tony’s hand was moving, now, quick short strokes near his tip, and his eyes were hot on Steve.  Steve reached down and palmed his own cock, handling it gently because of the hardware.  He flicked his eyes up to Tony as he touched himself.  The head of his cock was dark and purple, clear fluid leaking out around the plug, making him slick and so, _so_ sensitive...  He hissed as he wrapped his hand around it.  

Words, words...  “Do you want... slow?  Or fast?”

“Neither.”  Tony was gasping on every stroke, now, close enough to go off any second.  “I want—just play.  God, you’re so wet already.”  Steve remembered where else he was wet and felt a wave of turned-on embarrassment sweep through him.  “I want—get some of that good stuff on your fingers.”  

It was even harder to let go of his grip than it had been to grab it in the first place, but Steve did it.  He groaned, pulling his hand away, and then raising two tremulous fingers to swipe through the precome now dripping off of him.  Some of it had smeared against the negligee, he noticed.  He would have to hand-wash it; he couldn’t imagine sending it through the laundry service.  “Now what?”

“Lick it off.”

As soon as Steve touched his fingers to his outstretched tongue, Tony went off.  He came half out of his chair with the force of the orgasm, hips pumping into his hand as he shot load after load into the air.  It arched and twisted and finally dropped, landing messily on the carpeting, white against beige.  

There was silence in the room as they both looked at it.  I’ll have to clean that by hand, too, Steve thought.  

He didn’t mind.  Worth it.

“The next time you come...” he said slowly, still not raising his eyes from the messy juices on the floor, “would you be willing to come over here and aim it at me?”

“Hnnngggh,” Tony said.  “Steve.  Yes.  I am—I am willing to do that, absolutely, I am—are you sure you can’t come with the plug in?”

Steve frowned, and sucked absently on his fingers, which were still hovering next to his face, as he tried to think.  He pulled them out of his mouth again with a pop.  “I could, I’m just... less close.  Than I would be, otherwise, I mean.”

“Okay.”  Tony closed his eyes, then opened them again in a hurry.  “Okay—stop that.”  

Steve froze in the act of licking his fingers.

“Loosen your left hand.”  

His _left_ hand...?  Oh.  It was still tight in his hair, a small, delicious tension.  He forced his fingers to uncurl, surprised by how much he didn’t want to do it.  

“Wrap your left hand around your throat. Don't squeeze, but dig your fingers into the side of your throat as if you were going to.”   Steve's pulse kicked up, shocked—or excited—by the idea.  “Slide your right hand down your stomach—wait.  Slower. ...Good.  Now, slide your right hand down and wrap your fingers—slowly—around your cock.”  Steve’s heart pounded at that one, too.  Something about Tony’s voice and the way it caressed the obscenity...  “Let me see.  God, you look so good.  How does the plug feel?”

“Like an orgasm,” Steve blurted.  “When it’s—surging, you know?  It feels like I’m shooting, only _all the time,_ and also—I’m stretched open, Tony, so much—so I can’t...”

“Yeah.”  Tony’s words were low and fervent.  His eyes on Steve felt like warmth off a fire.  Steve found his hand moving, small little movements that wouldn’t jostle too much.  “Oh, you’re so good, Steve.”

The world was going fuzzy on the edges.  Steve dug his fingers into a little more, but the dual pressures on his throat and his cock were too much.  Pressure built up in his balls, lines of tension in his legs and gut.  He _was_ close, now, he realized.  His mouth fell open.  “Please, Tony—tell me I can come...”

Tony’s “holy shit” was soft and amazed.  He shook his head and then said louder, “Yeah, please do—Jesus, Steve...”

Steve closed his eyes and shortened his strokes, digging in with his left hand for purchase and for the feeling of powerlessness it gave him.  He shifted his weight to the side just to feel the plug in his ass press into him again, and that did it:  he felt the pressure shift from his balls to his cock, mounting up behind the plug before slowly dropping in long, slow, waves, as his come oozed out around the plug.

“Catch that,” Tony ordered sharply, and Steve did, dropping his left hand down to intercept the stream even as the right kept stroking.  Long strokes now, nursing the orgasm.  It seemed to go on forever.

When it was finally done, Steve slumped forward, still holding his cock and handful of warm come.

Tony was smirking.  He probably didn’t even know he was doing it.  “How would you feel about smearing that on your face?” he asked, and Steve didn’t even hesitate.  He raised the handful and started on his right cheek, dragging his hand sideways and down, over his lips, and the back up and around til it was right beside his left eye.   _“Fuck!”_ Tony blurted, his eyes wide.  

Steve smiled.  Meeting Tony’s eyes, he licked the last of the pearly mess off his palm.  Tony had liked that, he remembered, when he had done it last night.  

“You’re gonna kill me.”  Tony said it like it was a revelation.  “And I’m gonna die happy.  How’re you feeling right now?”  

Steve tested it out.  His muscles were loose and happy as they always were after an orgasm, but his cock and hole were two different stories.  His cock was throbbing around the stopper—not in a bad way, but it was sensitive; he hadn’t twitched his right hand since his orgasm ended—and he was too over-sensitive in the wake of his orgasm to want to do anything with the plug.  “Mostly pretty good,” he decided.  “Maybe not any direct touch for a couple minutes.”

“Yeah, makes sense—okay.  I’d like you to let go of your pretty cock, now, then.”

Steve moaned again.  He forced his fingers to release, letting his hand fall, palm up, onto the top of his thigh.  

“Was that for the motion, or the way I said it?” Tony asked.  Steve tipped his head forward.  “Hmm...  Is it the word cock that you like?”  

Steve whined involuntarily.  

“Or do you like the idea of being pretty?” Tony continued.  

This time as he whined, Steve felt his face heating with a blush.

“Or both,” Tony said softly.  His eyes hadn’t left Steve’s face.  “Both is doable; I can definitely work with that.”  His jaw ticked sideways, a thinking gesture.  “I love the lace, baby, but it’s time to get it out of the way.  Put your hands right here.”  He raised both fists in front of his chest like Clark Kent about to turn into Superman, and Steve realized immediately what he wanted.  “Yeah, just like that.  You know what I want you to do.”

Steve nodded and ripped.  The negligee was silk and therefore surprising strong, but Steve was stronger.  He felt his biceps bulge and his pecs twitch beneath the silk as he strained, and then the filmy fabric ripped, tearing in two right down the center, leaving his chest, stomach, and genitals plain to Tony’s view.  

For a second, Tony didn’t say anything.  His eyes roved over Steve’s body with a look that was half awe, half calculation.  Steve felt it like butterfly kisses.  

“God, look at you!”  It wasn’t the first time Tony had said that, Steve noticed.  “You’re gorgeous, Steve.  I could watch you for hours.”  Steve’s cock twitched, and Tony smiled warmly.  “Like that idea, too, huh?  Get your knee up, foot on the bed and lean back on your hands.  I want to look at all of you.”

Steve flushed again, as he was pretty sure he was intended to, but he did it, angling his other leg out, too, so that Tony had a good view.  

He saw the exact moment Tony realized he was wearing the buttplug, because Tony went absolutely still, his eyes greedy and fixed on the slim blue handle.  He licked his lips and then clenched his jaw so hard Steve could watch a muscle in his neck twitching.  Then he opened his mouth again, but didn’t say anything.  His jaw worked.  His penis, still lying outside of his opened flies, started to thicken.  

“I take it back.”  When he did speak, Tony’s voice came out soft and shaken.  “You’re not gorgeous, after all.”

Steve froze, suddenly going cold, only to be reassured by Tony’s next words.  “You’re better than that, even.  You’re _filthy._ It’s _perfect.”_

“I thought it might be a nice way to start.  Playing with it, I mean.”  Steve wasn’t sure about this.  He hoped it was something Tony was okay with; _perfect_ was a pretty good sign, though.

“What, by lubing yourself up and plugging yourself open?”  Tony obviously saw the effect his words had on Steve, because his eyes narrowed and he kept going.  “How much did you work yourself open?  Did you start out slow, gentle?  That’s how I would have done it.  I would have started with my tongue.  No, don’t close up.”  

Steve had groaned and started to bring his legs back together.  He was squeezing around the plug, again, too conscious of it holding him open not to.

“I would have just kissed it, first.  Little kisses, all around your pretty, pretty hole...  Almost delicate things, really.  This close to ticklish.”

Steve could feel it.  Tony was more than a body’s length away in a chair, and Steve could _still_ feel it.  He squirmed.  

“Yeah, just like that.”  Tony dropped a hand to his cock, stroking it casually.  “You’d be wriggling beneath me, desperate for something harder.  Once you were writhing, I’d kiss you right on your sweet little hole, but I’d still keep it pretty light.  Mayyyybe lick over the surface, gently, but nothing too fierce.  Pull your balls out of the way for me, I want a clearer view—no, keep leaning on the other hand.  That’s right.”  Steve’s balls were sweaty, but already hardening again as his cock filled and lifted.  “God, and you got it in blue.  That’s perfect, Steve.  Well done.”

Oh, God, the praise should not mean so much to Steve, not when he was the one who had set this whole thing up in the first place.  “I love you, Tony.”  

“Oh, believe me, I know,” Tony said, and he did: Steve could hear it in his voice, in the warmth, in the _joy_ that infused his words.  “This is the greatest present I’ve ever gotten in my life, and it’s not even my birthday.  And I know this isn’t your thing, not really.  You just thought it would make me happy, right?”

“Maybe it wasn’t before, but I’m pretty sure it’s my thing now—Tony, please!”

“I was telling you a story,” Tony grinned.  He reached down with his spare hand and pressed up, putting pressure behind his balls.  “About how I would love to eat you open.  Right?”

He waited until Steve had managed an affirmation, the bastard.  Steve’s cock was throbbing, the whole length of it.  The head around the stopper was agony.

“I’d lick over your hole before I went in it.  Wide swipes of my tongue, over and over again.  It might catch on the rim, once in a while, but mostly it would just make you feel puffy, sensitive.  You’d probably come at least once.”

“I’m probably going to come _soon.”_

“Oh, good.  You definitely should.  I love it when you come to the sound of my voice— _without touching yourself,”_ he added sharply when Steve started to move his hand.

“...Oh, God.”

Tony waited for him, but when Steve didn’t manage to come right that second, he went on.  “Once you were all swollen—engorged—and so sensitive after coming, then I would give you a little more.  Small probing jabs of my tongue, followed by those deep, plunging kisses.  You know the kind.  A little bit of suction.  I’d suck your pretty red asshole until you were begging for it.”

“Please.”

“Yes, just like that.”

“No—please, _please,_ Tony, please do _something—_ touch me, let me rub off, I don’t _care—”_

“Oh, but you were the one who set the rules of this little adventure, remember?  I’m just doing what you said!”  The dark delight carrying Tony’s words sent happy shivers down Steve’s spine.

“No no no _no—”_

“You can rub your tits, if you want,” Tony offered generously.  “As long as you can hold that position with no hands, I mean.”

Steve whimpered—there was no other word for it—but did it, raising his left hand to his chest and rubbing, pinching, squeezing first one nipple, then the other.  

“As I was saying.  You would be begging, open and desperate—just like now, and have I mentioned I love you for this?—and only then, _only then_ would I give you some fingers.  I’d start with one—did you start that way, too, when you put the plug in?”  

He paused, and it took Steve a second to realize he was waiting for a reply.  Took even longer to muster the breath for it:  Steve was panting and close, iron around the cock stopper and flat against his own stomach, smearing precome against his own skin.  He pinched and then twisted one nipple savagely and used the pain of it to clear his head enough to answer.  “Yes.  I started with one, yes.  Just the...”

“Just the tip?  Oh, Steve.”  Tony gave himself a squeeze.  “If I told you to come for me, how long would it take?”

Steve whined and scratched frantically across his chest.  

“Do it,” Tony ordered, and that was all it took.  Steve _whited out,_ he came so hard, and he must have been shouting, because his throat felt hoarse once he came down.  He was still tipped back and spread open, and the ejaculate had smeared all over his abs, droozling down to pool around the hand he had holding his balls up.  He absently let them go to scoop up the jism and smear it across his chest, not even thinking about it, just wanting to be marked.  When he was done, he licked his hand clean.  

He was halfway through sucking it off his fingers before he remembered to look at Tony.  Tony’s head was tipped to the side, the hand not on his dick stroking steadily behind his balls.  Steve didn’t quite have a good enough angle to see what he was doing, but he could guess.  

Once Tony saw that Steve was back in his own skin, he asked, “Is watching me part of it, for you?”  

Steve tried to muster some brain cells to answer.  “Both,” he said after considering the question.  “It’s—watching you, watching how you’re reacting to seeing me, that’s... that’s a thing, for sure.  But if I _couldn’t_ watch you, that would be... well.  A different thing.”

Tony grinned, a sharp little expression.

“Oh, no,” Steve said.

“Oh, yes.  Get on the bed, Steve.  On your knees, ass towards that camera, there—by the way, _very_ nice touch, using the AI’s monitoring equipment; that’s resourceful, good job—and then—no, not your hands; I want your hands free, put your chest all the way down on the bed.  That’s it.  Head turned away from me, since we’re doing this.”

The little mirror-sided tissue box he had set on the nightstand was on the same side as Tony, and if he turned his head, he would be looking away from it.  He took one last, lingering look at Tony _and_ the mirror before he turned.  

Tony’s head was turned away from Steve, looking towards the video screen, which showed Steve’s rear view in larger-than-life high definition.  Steve’s balls were dark, his cock still engorged, although softening.  The position spread his ass cheeks just enough to show off the blue, droplet-shaped head of the plug nestled squarely between them.  The steel ring of the sperm plug was a barely visible glimmer between his thighs.  

Unconsciously, unaware that Steve was still looking, Tony licked his lips.

Steve groaned as he turned his head to the side.  Before his cock had even finished falling, it was filling again.  

“Look at that.  You are a miracle, Steve, you really are.  Give that a stroke for me—just one.  Wouldn’t want you to get too excited, too soon.”  One stroke—not enough, not enough, but Steve forced himself to take his hand away, after.  The blue lace of the torn negligee, still hanging off his shoulders, tumbled into his face with the movement, and Steve blew a puff of air at it to send it off of his skin.  “Gooood.  Now then, what else did I want to make you do...

“I think I was telling you about how I would open you.”

“It’s taking you an awfully long time to do it,” Steve grumbled into the blanket beneath him.  

“Just for that—pinch your ass, Steve.”

“What?”

“Just reach back and pinch it.  Either cheek, don’t be gentle.”

Tony didn’t say anything else until Steve had done it—and it hurt, too—and once Steve’s hand dropped away, he went on as if there had been no interruption.  Which hurt more than the pinch, come to think of it.  “I was saying, that I’d have you licked open, squirming beneath me, and then I’d start with one finger.  Pull out the plug, Steve.”

Steve was so grateful to hear the instruction that he didn’t hesitate a second.  He reached behind himself, got a firm grip on the base, and pulled slowly, but steadily.  He wasn’t sure what to do with it once it was out; it _looked_ clean, but he still kind of didn’t want to just set it on the covers.  Instead, he just held it in his hand as he waited for Tony to continue.  

His asshole was twitching from the change, from being held open so long and then released.  It felt, just as Tony had described, swollen and puffy.  

“Yeeeeah,” Tony said, softer now.  His words were a fond caress.  “Yeah.  You’d look just like that.  You’re so beautiful, Steve, I wouldn’t be able to resist.  So I’d put my mouth on you again, but this time, I’d sink one finger in, first—do it—”

Steve was ambidextrous, one of the few gifts of the serum that had genuinely surprised him, and he used his left hand to slip a finger inside.

“Is that a bad angle?  Your shoulders are tilted, that looks uncomfortable...  You can set down the plug, you know.”

“On the blanket?!”  Steve tried not to sound appalled.

There was a brief silence.  Tony must have remembering what Steve had done the previous night, because he said,  “Well, put it in your mouth, then.”  

The plug was about five inches long, about four of which was designed to be inside the body, and that was one inch more than Steve could comfortably hold in his mouth without gagging; the plastic was somehow much worse than when it was Tony he was swallowing.  He tried three times before giving up on it, and instead cleaned it off with his mouth and tongue as best he could before setting it down.  There were a couple of soft gasps behind him when he was done, followed by some slick sounds and a moan.  

“Tony?”

“Yeah!  Yeah.  I.  Uh.  We were—you were going to put a finger in—”

“Right.”  It was hard to think.  His mind was cloudy and thick, like a small stream overfilled with floodwaters, turbulent and swollen.  He breathed out hard as he pushed a finger past his rim, all the way in.  It entered easily; Steve’s hole was still loose from the plug.

“I’d lick around it,” Tony said, “and move it gently inside you.  Probe around until I found the prostate—”  Steve didn’t need the prodding, but at this angle, he couldn’t do more than brush it.  He strained, and sobbed in frustration.  “I’d slip another one in, then.  Twist them in your entrance as I slowly moved my mouth away, biting at the delicious globes of your ass as I moved.  

“I’d probably fuck you with my fingers for a while, definitely until you were ready and pleading for it—no, don’t bother now, I know—and then I’d have to think about what I wanted.”  There was another slick sound behind him, and Steve clenched his hole uselessly around his fingers in frustration at not being able to guess what it was.  “I could just take you, of course—I like receiving, but when you’ve got an ass like that open and begging to be filled, well...  There’s not a lot of times when you get an opportunity like that...  I could also use a ring.  You’d like that, I think; you like things that push your boundaries.  Do you know about these?”

Steve groaned and shook his head against the blanket.  His cock was throbbing with every word Tony spoke, and he was fucking himself so hard with his fingers he was about to come on them, so of course Tony picked this moment to say, “Pull your fingers out and hold your cheeks apart for me; I want to watch you twitch.”  

“Damnit!”  Steve didn’t hesitate, though.  He had to rest a moment between pulling his fingers out of his ass and reaching up to spread himself, but he did it.  The air in the room felt cool on his over-heated rim.  

“A ring is a special plug with a hole like a doughnut.  It would hold you so open that I could see right through it.  Get one large enough, and I could _fuck you_ right through it.”

“Oh, God.”

“If I did it enough times, I could watch my come pool in your fucked-out hole.”

“Oh, _God.”_

“I think I like the third option best, though.”

“Tony—I’m so close, Tony, please say I can come—”

“Of course you can—the third option is the one where I set you up against a dildo—or a vibrator, even better—and let you fuck yourself onto it.”  

Steve’s hips jerked in the air.  The last thought he had was to snake his left hand down between his stomach and the bed, cupping it just far enough under his dick that Tony could see that he wasn’t touching it, and then he was coming, his cock swaying with the movements of his hips as he thrust and thrust into nothing.  

Just when it seemed like he was about to be done, the pressure around the cock plug became too much.  The ring under the glans stayed in place, but the plug itself swung free, and final stream of jizz, freshly released, poured out into Steve’s hand.  

“...Holy shit.”  

Steve frowned, reaching stupidly up to feel around the metal device.  “I think I broke it.”

“I think you broke _me._ Go ahead, pull it off, Jesus.”

Steve took his right hand off his ass, too, then, pulling the ring off and sucking it clean before throwing it away.  Then he put his hand back where it had been, holding himself open, and only when that was done did he pull his left hand out, still carrying its load.  He raised it up and dumped it on his ass, smearing it across both cheeks and the hole, rubbing it in before going back to holding his position as if nothing had happened.  “You were saying?”

His voice sounded like he had been deepthroating Tony instead of just coming his own brains out, raspy as hell.

“...I have absolutely no idea.”

“A vibrator,” Steve reminded him.  His hole clenched up at the very thought.  He was still so oversensitive right now that even the air felt like a tease, but his cock was filling and pulsing again, already back in the game now that it was free of the restriction of the plug.

Behind him, Tony groaned, loud and long.  The slick sounds sped up, in stereo, now, and Steve desperately wished he could see.  “Oh, God, you’re going to kill me.  Okay, I’ve got it—Jesus, I’m getting pretty close, myself, Steve.  This is going to be over in another few minutes.”

“You were going to come on me,” Steve reminded him.

“I definitely still am.  Okay, vibrator!  We don’t have one of those handy, but— grab that pretty blue plug of yours and stick it back in for me.”  

Steve fumbled the damn thing when he went to pick it up, then caught it before it hit the bed and turned it around again.  It occurred to him that he could use two hands for it, but by then he was pressing it one-handed to his hole and shoving forward, his other hand still holding himself spread, at least halfway, so that Tony could get a good view.  

“God, you’re perfect.  I love you so much.  I’m keeping you forever, I hope you know that.”

Steve groaned in agreement and pushed on the plug, rocking his hips to feel the ache of it.  His cock was already throbbing.  He knew instinctively that this would be the last orgasm of the night, and it was going to be a doozy.  

“Pull the plug out again and then fuck yourself with it,” Tony told him, “because that’s what I would want to do to you.  With the vibrator.”  

He had to shift his grip a bit to obey, wrapping his fingers around the plug instead of just pushing at the base.  His hole ached and spasmed as he pulled it out— the width of it tugged at him, stretched him wide as it pulled free.  He pushed it back in immediately, firmly, setting up a rhythm that was almost, but not quite, enough.  He shuddered against the sheets.  

“I’d use a support, set up the vibe so that it stays upright for you, let you ride it.”  Tony’s voice was rough and happy, his breath going out on him.  Soft sounds of wet motion provided counterpoint to every gasping breath.  Steve tugged a little harder on his ass, trying to show the camera, and Tony, a good angle on the plug fucking him open.  He got a groan and an oath and grinned into the blanket.

“Or!  Or.  We could attach it to a wall.”  Tony was spitting the fantasy out as a torture, now; Steve listened, his hips hitching helplessly as he drove the plug in and out of himself.  “The vibe.  Attach it sideways and let you rut back against it like a bitch in heat.  Like you’re doing now.  Would you like that?”

The plug was tugging at his rim on every withdrawal, and Steve couldn’t quite manage to form words.  He fucked himself harder and faster, though, and Tony got the message.  “You would—oh, God, I’m so fucking close, Steve—you would love it.  The vibrations— _fuck!”_

Steve moaned an agreement.  Fabric rustled behind him.

“The vibrations!  Would.  They would... good.  As you fucked yourself back on it.  Jesus.  And then—then what?  Do you think—”

“Tony, please, just come over here—”

“Yes, Jesus, _finally,_ thank you!”  Tony must have shoved to his feet, because that was definitely the sound of a chair hitting the wall and falling over.  

The bed dipped as Tony climbed in.  “So then.”  A hand fisted in Steve’s hair and pulled his head off the blanket, shaking it back and forth.  “Do you know?  What I would do?”

“Please, Tony, please, please, _please—”_

“I would crawl in front of you.”  Tony pulled harder, and then there was a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve realized he was supposed to turn over.  Tony’s face was white when he saw it, drawn with arousal.  He pressed a scorching kiss to Steve’s mouth, tongue fucking him hard and then drawing his tongue sideways, licking through the drying come on Steve’s cheek.  

“I’d sink back on your cock.”  Tony reached down and threw Steve’s legs apart, nudged him until Steve was sitting square on the plug, pressing it into himself.  He threw his leg over Steve’s so that he was sitting in Steve’s lap, grabbed Steve’s dick and wiggled until Steve could feel the slick, loose entrance of him pressed against the head.  

“You’d be fucking yourself.  On the vibrator.”  Tony wrapped an arm around Steve’s neck, pressing them close as he sank down, taking Steve inside of him.  He had opened himself well, but Steve still almost sobbed at the tight, wet heat of him.  Tony sucked a kiss onto Steve’s neck, hard and bruising, and then pulled back to look Steve dead in the eye.  

“And as you were fucking yourself on the vibrator, you would also be fucking me.”

He started to move, and Steve clenched his hands into fists at his side as Tony rode him.  He hadn’t been told he could touch, for one thing, and his strength for another...  As Tony bounced him into the mattress, the plug pressed into him on every stroke.  Steve moaned wordlessly and tried for kisses, which sometimes Tony gave him—other times he missed, bounced off-course by the rhythm of the fucking—and Steve tried to think about it, tried to focus on that missed rhythm, because otherwise he was going to come too soon, too soon—Tony needed him to last for him, needed Steve to stay in control while Tony used him...

And then finally, _explosively,_ Tony was coming.  He pulled Steve in by the arm he had wrapped around Steve’s neck, dragging his head down so that the come splashed into Steve’s mouth, across his cheeks, down his neck and his chest.  One stream and then another, and Steve stuck out his tongue, trying to catch the last of it just there as he finally let go a shuddered his way into an orgasm, loosing his own seed into the warm, willing cavity of Tony’s body.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, tangled together, smeared with the evidence of half a dozen orgasms between them, at last, they came to a halt.  

 

* * *

 

Neither of them wanted to move for a long time afterward, so they didn’t.  They didn’t even clean up.  Instead, they tipped sideways—more gravity than choice—and lay together in the bed, exchanging slow, grateful kisses.  From time to time, one of them would say, “Love you,” and the other one would answer, “Love you, too.”  That was the closest they came to activity, though.

They drifted off into a doze, warm and together and in love.

 

* * *

 

Steve woke an hour or so later.  The room was dark—thanks, FRIDAY—and Tony was making little whimpers and jerking in his sleep.  Steve gently disengaged himself, only to find that they were actually stuck together, and every square inch of skin above his knees was itchy.  He shuddered and woke Tony.

“Nnnn—whassat?  Ants...?”

“You’re not covered in ants, Tony.”  

“Oh, good,” Tony yawned.  “Why’m moving?”

“I’m carrying you to the bathroom.  We need to get cleaned up.”

Tony woke up a little at that, looked at them both, at the shreds of Steve negligee and at the obscene artwork which was their chests, which had smeared together when Tony was riding Steve.  “I’ll say,” he smirked.  “We do good work.”

Steve grinned and set Tony on his feet, bending over to reach for the faucet.  Oh, hey, that felt... interesting...  Steve reached around for the plug, dropping it on the floor of the tub. “I’ll say we do.”

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve from behind and rubbed his face against Steve’s back.  Possibly that was affection; also possibly, Tony had dried come on his face and it was itching.  

Probably both, actually.

“You have the best ideas,” Tony said happily.  

“The bath?  It’s not rocket science.”

“Not the bath.  Well... that, too.  But no, I meant tonight.”

“But tonight was _your_ idea,” Steve argued.  He turned in Tony’s arms and stepped backwards into the tub.  “I just made it happen; you’re the one who came up with it.”

Tony stepped into the water, too.   _“I_ indulged a kink—a somewhat shameful kink—while you were safely out of the country and couldn’t see it,” he said. _“You_ turned it around and made it okay again.”  

They leaned into the kiss at the same time, then relaxed, their foreheads pressing together.  Steve thought about what Tony was saying as he dropped one more kiss on Tony’s nose and took them down into the water together.  Tony cuddled into Steve’s chest as Steve lathered up that froo-froo plastic thing Tony used instead of a washcloth.  

“...I think it was better than okay, actually,” he said at last.

Tony barked out a laugh.  “A little bit.”

“Pretty great, in fact.  I would say.”  Steve started scrubbing at the dried flecks on Tony’s chest.  

“You should say, too.  Steve?”  

“Mm-hmm?”

“I love you.”

Steve stopped scrubbing for a moment.  “I love you, too,” he said seriously.  “Does this mean you’re not going to hide your kinks from me like they’re dirty little secrets anymore?”

“Yeah.”  Tony smiled up at him.  “Yeah, that’s what it means.”

“Good.”  Steve kissed Tony again, then turned the scrubby on himself.  

“Hey, Steve...?”

 _“Yes,_ Tony?”

“...You have dried come in your hair.”

 


	2. DELETED SCENE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started this as part of the main fic, decided it didn't fit, and kept it and finished it because I thought it was cute.

"Steve."  

"Mmmph."

"Steeeeve.  Steve-Steve-Steve!  Come on, you gotta help me out here, babe.  I can't strip you all on my own."  

Tony's voice.  Steve snickered.  "Welcome to try..."

"You are the worst.  I will kick you out, no more sex if you kick your boots into my bed."

"Awww, c'mon—they're just slippers!"

Tony's voice went silent, and when he next spoke, it was filled with glee.  "Slippers?!  What, like fuzzy slippers?”

“Mmmmph,  _ no—” _

“Or like  _ glass _ slippers?  What else are you wearing, Cinderella?"

Steve burrowed his face into the softness under him—comforter, he guessed, or maybe a pillow; he was awfully turned around.  Whatever it was, it would hide it if he was blushing, which he probably was.  "Don't make fun," he sulked.  "It's pretty."

"Oh, I'm sure.  What is it?"

"S’lace.  With, like, ribbons and things."  

Wait, why couldn't Tony see Steve's dress?  

Steve opened his eyes and sat up, looking down at himself.  No dress.  Instead, his pants were open, his cock sitting out against his leg.  He was half-hard:  it had been a very pretty dress.  His shirt was thin and rucked up, exposing his abs; his legs hung over the edge of the bed and, yes, he was still wearing his boots.  "Damn it," he muttered.  "Sorry, Tony."

"Oh, believe me, you should not apologize for this.  Please, tell me more about these lace and ribbons you were apparently wearing."

And that sounded... not how it was.  "It was a dream," he said, leaning over to push off his boots.  Tony rolled right off the bed to help him, which was awfully nice because the boots were awful to take off, and because it meant Steve didn't have to look Tony in the face as he said this.  

"Was it a sexy dream?"  Judging by his voice, Tony was assuming that it was in fact a sexy dream.  

"No," Steve told him, feeling a lot of satisfaction about the answer.  

"...Could we  _ pretend  _ it was a sexy dream?"

"Tony."

"Steve."

"Tony..."

"Steve!  You can't just give me lace and ribbons and expect me to do nothing with them.  Come on."

"Alright, fine!  It was a dress, alright?"  

"Was it a sexy dress?"

"NO, it wasn't a sexy dress, it was a—"

Steve turned bright red and clenched his eyes shut.  The thing was, Tony was not going to shut up about this, and he knew it.  Tony had never, not once in his life, just let something go merely because Steve was embarrassed about it, which was fine, it was not like Tony didn't have other redeeming properties, it was just that this was going to be awful, was going to be epicly, macroscopically humiliating, and Steve really didn't want to have to say it.  That was all.

"—it was a wedding dress, alright?"

Tony went very still.  "Uh?"

"It was a dream, it was just a stupid dream, but I dreamt we had just gotten married, and you were sitting beside me on the couch and I was wearing this big, poofy wedding dress, and the whole top from like here—"  He drew a line across the middle of his pecs with his fingers.  "—up was just lace, and there were these big, ivory ribbons swooping around the waist and hips and stuff, and there were about fifteen layers and a train, and I felt really..."  

He broke there, fumbling to a halt before he'd managed to get the last word out.  It would have been a bridge too far, he thought; he couldn't quite manage it, not quite.

Of course, the nice thing about Tony was that he was very, very smart.  "Pretty," he filled in for Steve.  "You felt really pretty."

Steve stood up and nodded, stooping to pick up his boots and move them over to the rack where they belonged.  He didn't look back as he stripped off the rest of his clothes—he gathered up the jacket of his uniform and put that down the chute with the rest of them—and then changed into pj's.  Tony had taken one look at Steve's old flannel pajama bottoms and switched them out, ordering him some kind of thin satin pants that didn't trap heat at all.  Steve's nights had gone a lot smoother after that, although neither of them had said anything about it because that would mean they had to look it in the eye.  If they talked about it, they'd have to admit that there was more at play here than just Tony liking it when Steve wore the things he had bought for him.

By the time Steve was back to bed—still not making eye contact—Tony had thrown the MIT hoodie at the dresser and climbed under the covers.  Unlike Steve, Tony liked to sleep in boxers and an old a-shirt.  Steve privately thought it made him look very soft, very touchable.

"So," Tony said when Steve had climbed under the covers.  "This is something we can do."

"Stop it."

"Not the wedding—or at least, not right now; we just starting this thing, even for us that's jumping the gun a little bit—"

"God, Tony." 

" —but the looking pretty, that I'm in favor of."

"I'm not talking about this."  There were a lot of things Steve was willing to try with Tony, but those were all just variations on sex.  Steve was still a man, and this wasn't—he couldn't just put on  _ random other clothes, _ that wasn't going to— "I can't, Tony.  Come on."  

"You come on, this is amazing!  Is it just dresses, do you think, or would lingerie do the trick?"

Steve froze, arrested by the mental image.

"Aha," Tony said.

"I—"

"I can order you lingerie," Tony says, very quickly.  "Any time.  Just say the word."

"FRIDAY, please turn off the lights."

"Do you want to start with a nightie?  You'd look cute—"

"No, Tony."

"Or we could do panties, panties are easy—FRIDAY, order Steve some panties—"

"Any particular color, boss?"

"No—"

"Blue."

"No, Tony!"

"Lace and ribbons, FRIDAY, you heard the man—"

"TONY!"

Finally, at last, Tony went silent.  

Steve sighed, glad that it was at least dark in the room, now.  "I don't want to go dressing in lingerie," he insisted.  "Or dresses, either.  I know you think you're helping me... let loose, or something, but... this isn't..."

He trailed off, but for once Tony didn't supply the word he was missing, so Steve had to sort through his feelings and provide it on his own.

"This isn't a hole in my sex life that I need you to fill, Tony.  There's nothing missing here."

Tony's fingers were moving against the thin blanket; Steve could hear the soft fabricky sound of them.   

"What if it's cake?" Tony asked quietly.  

Steve thought about it as he turned over, huddling under the covers a bit more and switching to lying on his side.  Sometime in the night, Tony would turn over, too, cuddling up until he was the little spoon and Steve could wrap his arm around him.  Steve hadn't mentioned how much he liked waking up to the smell of Tony's shampoo tickling his nose, but he sort of thought Tony might know, anyway.  

"Whaddyou mean?"  

"Cake.  You know.  Extra, non-essential.  It isn't a hole to be filled, sure; no essential vitamins or nutrients you could only get from this.

“But what if it's cake?"

Steve thought about it some more, his breathing slowing as he snuggled into his pillow.  The dress in his dream had been poofy and swishy, swirling about him dramatically as he curled next to Tony on the—what had that furniture been, anyway, a divan?   The lace had scratched at his chest, and the air had been just cool enough to give him goosebumps—probably a result of the his shirt being rucked up in the waking world, but...

"I could try some cake, I guess," he said quietly.  "But Tony... really, I don't  _ need..." _

"I know," Tony said.  "But the thing is... maybe  _ I _ want it."

Oh.

Ohhhh...

Steve propped himself up on one elbow, squinting at Tony's vague form in the dark.  "Really?"

Tony's head tipped away from him.  "It's cake," he said again, shrugging.  "If you really don't want to, we won't.  I don't  _ need  _ it, or anything."

Steve's legs shifted under the covers, his hips tensing, and he collapsed down off his elbow again as he realized that he was getting hard.  

There was a difference, he thought.  There was a big damn difference between Tony pressuring Steve to do something Steve didn't particularly care about, and Tony  _ asking _ Steve to do something to make  _ Tony  _ happy.  

Actually, Steve realized, this was the first time Tony ever had done that second thing.  Always before, it was Steve who was the instigator.  Tony might be the guy who had owned up to thinking about it first, but Steve was the one who had come to Tony's lab and suggested they have sex.  Steve was the one who had invited Tony to go again, and Steve was the one who continued the relationship.  Steve was the guy who confessed his feelings first, too, although he had been pretty sure Tony returned them by the time he had done it.  Steve was even the one who had suggested the watching game—an excellent game, and Tony was obviously the main beneficiary, but it had been Steve's idea.

This was the first thing Tony had ever asked him for, at least in their relationship.  As far as Steve knew, this was the first thing—other than Steve himself—that Tony had admitted to wanting.  

"FRIDAY," Steve ordered into the dark, silent bedroom, "order some of them in red, too."

 

**Author's Note:**

> There was a little 1.5k snippet I wrote initially as part of this fic, but which didn't quite fit. I've made it its own little outtake, and I'll put it up as chapter two.


End file.
